


Lover, Hunter, Friend & Enemy

by LokiLover89



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angry Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Biting, Blood and Injury, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Bottoming from the Top, Boys Kissing, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Guilt, Hurt No Comfort, Jaskier is a good friend, M/M, Monster Jaskier | Dandelion, Monster of the Week, Murder, Not Beta Read, Scent Kink, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Swords, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, bleeding heart Jaskier, no happy ending, only slightly though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:14:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29316930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokiLover89/pseuds/LokiLover89
Summary: Geralt had been a lot of things throughout his life, some of them good though the majority of them bad.Either way he had been one thing or another to every person he had met, whether that be a reluctant friend, a huntsman or a monster to be feared.Jaskier was different though, always had been but Geralt hadn’t been ready for the path destiny had chosen for them or how their relationship would grow and twist like great vines around a long forgotten castle, there thorns digging in deeper every time destiny tightened its hold on them.He should have left Jaskier in Posada.This was all his fault.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 52





	1. Hunter

Geralt grunted, the alderman’s rambling fading into the background as he let his mind wonder to what the creature could actually be instead of what the idiot was speculating it was.

If the idiot was to be believed then at night a gentle and haunting song would filter though the trees that surround the small village, calling to the young men of the settlement and seemingly taking hold of their minds and driving them to the woods. People had tried to stop them, had even gone as far as to lock the men up but one always seemed to get free and come morning their cold and lifeless body would be found floating face up in the river not half a mile into the woods. 

One of the braver, or stupid depending on how you looked at it, women of the village had followed her soon to be husband in hopes of being able to save him from his bleak fate. She had been greeted with a women who seemed to glow with an unnatural beauty, green eyes bright and long flowing red hair that reached all the way down to her bare feet. The brave and stupid women had tried to save the man she loved when he had gone willingly into the water, the beings hair wrapping around his feet and dragging him under but all she had gotten for her efforts was an ugly and jagged scar on her once pretty face and a body to burry. 

A widow before she even had the chance to become a wife. 

“Have any young women drowned recently, either by their own hand or another’s?” Geralt cut across whatever the plump and haggard looking man was saying, ignoring Jaskier’s little disapproving hum from behind. The fat little man huffed, crossing his arms across his chest and jutted his chin up and out, looking up at Geralt with clear annoyance. 

Geralt’s frown deepened, crossing his own arms over his chest and standing up straighter, making himself look more intimidating. Jaskier called it his Witcher stance, Geralt called it getting bored with human bullshit and wanting answers now. The alderman’s eyes widened slightly, any bravado he had shrivelling up when faced with Geralt’s general menacing aura. 

“The inn keeper’s daughter was found about a month prior to the first attack,” he mumbled, looking away from Geralt nervously. He hummed, giving the stout little man a once over before spinning on his heels and striding from the room. “We’ll let you know when it’s done,” Jaskier called out as he hurried to catch up with Geralt. “That is if we…” Geralt turned his head slightly to look at the man next to him, raising an eyebrow at him. “….you are taking the job?” he looked up at Geralt, a little unsure sounding but his steady gaze never wavering. 

Grunting he turned away from the bard, heading back towards the inn and the room they had waiting for them. Jaskier thankfully didn’t ask Geralt anything else, slipping back to his mindless humming that Geralt had gotten used to tuning out over the few short years they had been travelling together. Something he was grateful for because he might have strangled the bard by now otherwise. 

Once they had made it back to the inn Geralt had hopped that Jaskier would stay down stairs, keep himself busy by entertaining the late afternoon crowd but Geralt was not that lucky and the bard followed him up the rickety stairs and back to their room. It wasn’t much but it had a fire and one bed of a decent size. It was by no means the first time they would have to share a bed but things were starting to get a little, difficult for Geralt. 

He wasn’t sure when it had started but suddenly, one evening in some nameless little village he had found himself watching the bard prance around a tavern, singing Geralt’s praises and he had found himself smiling, genuinely amused and fond of the spectacle. He had suspected magic but after a quick trip to the locale mage that suspicion had been quickly put to rest and Geralt was left with the realisation that he was annoyingly quite enamoured with the idiot. 

Normally this wouldn’t be an issue, he could shove the feelings down and ignore them but the last five inns that they had stayed in they had been forced to share a bed. Geralt would have accused Jaskier of doing it on purpose, trying to irritate Geralt in some new way, except Geralt was the one seeking the rooms and he had most definitely been aiming for separate room, settling for separate beds if he had to but he had no such luck and he found himself more often then not shoved up against the bard and trying not to touch him more than was necessary. It was driving him crazy and his resolve was starting to crack.

“I don’t suppose you know what kind of monster it is? From what the alderman said I thought siren but surely we are to far in land for such a thing,” Jaskier prattled on, moving around the room like some sort of bird, flitting from one place to another. Geralt picked up his silver sword, checking its sharpness before deciding it would do, placing it back in its sheath and slinging the whole thing over his shoulder.

“Rusalka” he grunted, turning to his saddle bag and started checking over his various positions. He didn’t think he would need any, by all rights this should be over within minuets but he liked to be prepared as best as he could. These things could get vicious though and the last thing he wanted was some crazed spirit trying the claw his face off whilst simultaneously trying to drown him. 

“Ah! A rusalka how silly of me not to have realised,” Jaskier exclaimed loudly and despite his best efforts Geralt found himself turning to look over his shoulder at the other man, smiling softly at the exasperated glare the bard was directing his way. “And prey tell Witcher, what exactly is a rusalka to those of us who haven’t spent years studying the encyclopaedia of monster?” he snipped tersely, hands on his hips and looking at Geralt expectantly. 

Huffing Geralt turned back to what he was doing, schooling his features and trying not to think about how he wanted to kiss the indigent look of the bards lips. “Female. Hates men. Ether drowned herself or by someone else. Lures her victims by singing then drowns them,” Geralt grunted his words out, stating the minimum he could get away with. He knew it wouldn’t be enough for Jaskier, the man always clamouring for details when Geralt didn’t want to give them. It was annoying and on more than one occasion he had yelled at Jaskier when he wouldn’t stop pressing for more but as if by some small miracle the bard just made a small humming noise to signal his understanding and kept his mouth shut. Any other time he might question his sudden silence but Geralt could practically hear Jaskier’s mind working as he turned the information over in his mind, trying to decide how to piece together a song.

Determining that he had everything he needed Geralt slung his pack over his shoulder and stood up. He didn’t say anything, just heading towards the door and knowing Jaskier would follow him like a little puppy. He should make him stay behind but that had never worked in the past and he doubted it would work now. They would just waist time arguing and in the end all it would do was annoy Geralt. This shouldn’t be that dangerous any way so there was no real harm in letting Jaskier tag along for once.

If possible Geralt wanted to end this the easy way by digging up the poor girl’s grave and covering her bones in salt and sage before setting the whole thing on fire. If done in daylight it wouldn’t hurt her, the twisted thing her spirt had been forced into passing on peacefully. It was easier that way and a damn better option then having to run her through with his sword. With Jaskier there as well at least Geralt would have his insistent strumming and singing to help pass the time. He suffered no delusions that the bard would actually help with the digging, God’s forbid he get dirt on his clothes. Before any of that though Geralt needed to find out where she had been buried.

Things had not gone to plan.

To Geralt’s annoyance the current inn keeper was in fact not the one whose daughter had died. Geralt had grumbled, ready to have to go looking through the small towns rather large cemetery for any headstones of young girls who had died recently but before he could even turn away from the disgruntled looking man Jaskier had slid up next to him and smiled brightly at the man and starting a casual conversation whilst ordering them both an ale.

It hadn’t taken him long to worm the information out of the man. He used flowery words and gave the man all his attention, leaning in to whisper, laughing brightly at his rather piss poor jokes and laying his hands on the other man in a manor that suggested anything but casual and innocent. 

Geralt fucking hatted it. 

It was a constant struggle not to lean across and shove the man back every time he leaned in to far, his lips close enough to the bard’s ear that he was practically licking it. Geralt’s patience had worn thin though when he had dared to lay his hand on the bards arm and squeeze gently at the muscles Geralt knew lay under the fine silk. He had actually growled at that, glaring at the man and though he had backed of slightly Jaskier coaxed him back with his disarming charm quick enough. Geralt wanted to pull the bard away but his flirting was actually working and they soon had answers, though not ones Geralt was too happy with.

The previous inn keeper and his wife had left just days after their daughter’s death and had taken her body with them. No one knew what they intended to do with the body but when asked they had simply said they were taking her home. That had set Geralt’s original plan up in flames and he had been ready to go sit in the back corner and drink his ale until night fell and he could go relieve the rusalka of its head but Jaskier had pushed, seeking more information and the inn keeper had jumped at the chance to gossip like an old hag. 

Rumour had it that she had been having a sordid affair with the blacksmiths son, a man three years her elder at twenty two and with a wife and a young son already. Word had it that she too had ended up with child and the man had panicked. They had met down by the river and he had tried to give her money for a mage to get rid of the child but when she had refused he had flown into a rage and ended up drowning the poor girl, leaving her body there in hopes it would wash away downstream. 

Geralt wasn’t surprised by the information, it was normally how a rusalka came into existence. Well that or they drowned themselves after being stuck in a loveless marriage or a man having forced himself on them. Sometimes it was jealous lovers who did the drowning, driven into a blind rage when they were faced with the reality that the one they loved was not actually theirs but that was rare as in those instances people tended to end up stabbed to death or strangled instead. Either way it was the same. A women who had been wronged in some way and had paid the price with her life only to come back seeking revenge on men in general. In this case she had gotten it. 

Her third victim had been the blacksmiths son. 

Jaskier had been greatly saddened by this information and not long after they had made their way to the back of the tavern, newly refilled drinks in hand and nothing else to do but wait till the sun set and the rusalka started to sing. 

Jaskier asked a few more questions, mostly about how to kill a rusalka. He hadn’t said kill though. Jaskier had asked how to set the poor thing free, his bright blue eyes shimmering with pity and sadness. It always amazed Geralt how Jaskier could feel such compassion for even the most evil things. He hadn’t understood at first, thinking it was the bard just being an idiot but as the years had passed Geralt had come to understand that it was just the kind of man Jaskier was. He didn’t judge by what society told him but by what he perceived. To him the rusalka was just the spirit of a poor young girl who had fallen in love with the wrong man and had paid a steep price for her misjudgement. She deserved respect and the curtesy of a quick and as painless end as they could give her and Geralt hoped to accomplish that. 

As the night drew in the tavern emptied of men, all of them having scurried home to lock themselves away in hope that they would not be the next to die and leaving the women to roam free, something they had seemed to enjoy from he looks of it. He and Jaskier had ventured outside as the night drew on, ready to act as soon as the rusalka showed its self. After a few hours though Jaskier had disappeared off round the back of a building to relieve himself, humming a gentle and almost melancholy tune and leaving Geralt stood in the middle of the dirt street, eyes closed and ears straining for the singing to start.

It had been a mistake to let Jaskier out of his sight.

The singing started just before midnight. It was gentle, being carried on the wind and full of longing and heartbreak. It made Geralt’s chest ache, a sadness washing over him but his mutations made him resistant to such magic’s and he was able to ignore the desire to run to the women’s aid. So focused he was on the singing coming from the woods that it took him longer than it should have to realise that Jaskier’s gentle humming had stopped, along with the steady beat of his heart that Geralt had gotten so used to by now that it just faded into the background, a constant and now it was no longer there everything seemed so much quieter. 

Cursing he had quickly made his way round the back of the building, not surprised to find the bard gone. Drawing his sword Geralt had quickly made off after Jaskier, his footsteps light as he bounded into the wood. He wasn’t that far ahead, Geralt already able to hear Jaskier’s unsteady footsteps as he stumbled through the undergrowth, moving quickly towards where the singing was coming from. Geralt knew he was close but he still felt that same tang of fear he got every time Jaskier got too close to a monster and it was made even worse by the fact that Geralt had been so sure no harm would come to the other man tonight. He should know by now that when it came to Jaskier he would always manage to fined trouble. 

He burst through the tree line, stepping out into a clearing the same time as Jaskier did. He was a little further along than Geralt, blue eyes glazed over and silent tears streaming down his cheeks. He didn’t even seem to notice Geralt, his attention focused on the women who stood on the river’s edge, her arms outstretched towards Jaskier and singing gently. 

Her red hair was long, pooling on the floor by her bare feet, her green eyes bright like emeralds and her pail skin almost glowing in the moon light that streamed through the gap in the trees. She looked other worldly, the simple white nightdress she had on billowing in the wind. The rusalka was beautiful, even more so than the girl had been in life and Geralt could understand why mortal men went to her. Could understand why Jaskier who was always so enamoured with beauty, love and heartbreak was getting closer, lifting his own arms as he reached out for her hands. Their fingers bushed, the rusalka’s wistful smile twisting slightly into something darker, knowing that her prey was so close. She took a step back, her foot slipping into the cold water of the river and the ends of her hair reaching out to wrap around Jaskier’s ankles. 

Geralt moved quickly, darting forward and reaching out. His hand curled around Jaskier’s elbow, his fingers digging in to the point of bruising as he pulled the bard out of the way. The rusalka screamed, high pitched and angry, her once beautiful face morphing to look like that of a corpse that had been left to rot for months on end. She tried to lunge for Jaskier, her clawed hands scratching across Geralt’s arm as he shoved the other man to the floor and placed himself between the two. The wound stung, her nails slicing through his clothes and skin but Geralt gritted his teeth, slamming his shoulder into her chest and sending the thing stumbling back.

Gripping the handle of his silver sword tighter Geralt perused the monster. She snarled at him, her purple and rotted flesh splitting at her lips to show of her teeth. She lunged at him, hands reaching out for him but Geralt easily moved out the way of the attack, swinging his sword round as he went. The sliver glinted in the moonlight as he brought the blade back down, slicing across her back and chopping half of her hair off. 

Her scream of pain was loud, the sound sending birds scattering and other wildlife running. Geralt would have thought she would turn on him, angry and desperate but his actions had moved their footing and now he was no longer in between the monster and Jaskier who still lay on the ground. He was propped up on one arm, clutching at his head with the other hand and blinking the fog from his eyes. The rusalka moved forward, the action drawing Jaskier’s attention to it. The confusion quickly left him, his eyes going wide as he quickly scrambled back. 

“GERALT!” he yelled, the air thick with the stench of his fear as the rusalka descended on him, her claw like hands grabbing at the front of his doublet and ripping through the delicate silk. The scent of the bard’s blood filled the air as he cried out, his head tipping back and exposing the delicate column of his neck as he kicked out at the creature above him. Geralt was already moving before Jaskier had even gotten his name out, striding across the clearing to get to them. He grabbed a fistful of the rusalka’s remaining hair, jerking its head back and exposing its throat. Its sharpened nails scratched at his hands and arms but Geralt paid it no attention as he brought he sword round and in one quick move slit the monsters throat. 

It screamed, squirming in Geralt’s hold but as its blood gurgled from the wound the rusalka stilled, going limp in his hold. Grunting Geralt yanked it backwards, pushing the body to the floor so he could get a good look at Jaskier. He stared up at Geralt with wide shock filled eyes and his mouth hanging open. He was covered in the thick black blood of the rusalka, the liquid having soaked the entire front of his outfit. It was even dripping down his face, making his blue eyes seem even brighter. He looked as bad as Geralt normally did and it made a change for Jaskier to be the one completely covered in blood instead of him.

Geralt didn’t like it.

“Shut your mouth before you swallow that shit,” he growled out angrily and Jaskier automatically snapped his mouth shut, his shock easily slipping into annoyance. He used the back of his sleeve to wipe the worst of it off his face, pushing himself to his feet. “I wouldn’t have to worry about swallowing anything Geralt if you hadn’t decided to kill it right over me,” he snapped, making his way over to the river to wash his face and hands now it was rusalka free. Geralt grunted as he sunk to his knees next to the body, taking his hunting knife from it sheath on his thigh and proceeded to cut the things head off as proof of kill for the alderman. “Next time I’ll let it strange you then,” he snarled as he put his weight behind the blade and forced it between the two vertebrae. There was a sickening pop as they came free from one another and then the head lolled back, now only attached by skin and muscle. 

“I mean look at me Geralt, another outfit ruined. You best hope the alderman pays handsomely for this because you will be buying me replacements this time Witcher”. The rusalka’s blood was ice cold and thick like sludge, drenching his hands as Geralt finished taking its head off. Its blood smelt like the river it had been drowned it, murky and full of piss and shit. He probably should tell Jaskier that it wasn’t the kind of river you should be washing in but a part of him found it funny that the normally fussy bad was practically washing away blood with piss. He would pay for a bath once they made it back to the inn, they both needed one and Jaskier would appreciate getting a chance to clean properly.

Putting the hunting knife away, Geralt’s got to his feet, rusalka head in one hand and sword in the other and started back towards the village. “I ain’t replacing shit bard, shouldn’t have wondered off. Again,” Geralt yelled over his shoulder, Jaskier’s indignant squark his only answer. Geralt could smell his annoyance, his fear, the faint tang of his blood but like always under everything was Jaskier’s excitement. Coming along on hunts got Jaskier excited, his heart pumping and adrenaline flowing through his veins. He would be on edge for the rest of the night, jittery and ready to do something. Geralt knew that after their bath Jaskier would redress and slip off into the night to find someone to work his excess energy off with and the thought only made Geralt a little jealous. 

He shoved the thought away, concentrating on making his way back through the woods and making sure Jaskier was following him, not wanting to have to come back and look for him if he got lost. At some point Jaskier began to hum, mumbling the odd word so low that even Geralt struggled to understand what he was saying. The tune was sad, if not a little whimsical and Geralt could recognise the vague similarity’s to the song the rusalka had been singing and what Jaskier had already been humming earlier that evening. Of course he would already be working on a song, had already started it whilst they had been at the tavern and the idea had been fresh in his mind. If Jaskier was anything it was that he was dedicated to his art and he would always be composing regardless of the situation.

Geralt felt himself smile slightly at the absurdity of it all. Jaskier had just seen Geralt behead a monster that had been trying to kill him, getting drenched in blood in the process and here he was composing something that sounded almost almost like a love song. 

Geralt’s life could be strange sometimes but no more so than when Jaskier was around.


	2. Friend

Geralt gritted his jaw, hands curling into fists on the bar top as he tried to keep his anger in check but it was getting hard and harder with every word that was coming out of the inn keeper’s mouth. “We ain’t got room for your kind freak,” he spat out, arms folded across his chest and looking at Geralt like he was the scum of the earth.

Geralt was used to this or he had been used to it but travelling with Jaskier had made him soft, these sort of things happening so rarely now that he had almost forgotten that so many people still hated his kind. Almost but places like this reminded him quick enough. Jaskier wasn’t with him now, had gone running back to the countess de Stael just after the incident with the djinn with nothing more than an enthusiastic wave as he practically ran towards her awaiting carriage they had come across by chance and a promise to meet again soon but that had been months ago.

Not that Geralt cared.

It was better without the bard’s constant noise and habit of finding trouble when there shouldn’t even be any. It wasn’t like the silence was grating on him or that on the long and lonely days he missed Jaskier’s warm and ever optimistic presence or that he had started to talk to Roach more just to fill the silence. Geralt was doing fine on his own but in situations like this Jaskier and his flamboyant way of talking would have come in useful for once. He had a way with words that could either end up with him getting exactly what he wanted or a punch in the teeth. Either way he would probably have better luck then Geralt currently was.

He was tired, covered in monster guts and swamp water and had a gouge on his side that needed cleaning and then probably stitches. Geralt knew he looked a mess, like the monster people often called him but he had just freed the villagers of a Kikimore infestation that he had already been underpaid for by the alderman and his patience was beginning to wear thin. He didn’t want much just a hot bath and something to eat and drink. Sure a warm and dry place to sleep would have been a welcomed luxury but he would settle for the bath and food but the inn keeper wouldn’t even give him that.

“I just want…” he started but was cut off by the sound of several chairs scrapping across the floor, the gentle mummer of chatter dying. “You heard him freak, we ain’t got room for the likes of you here”. Geralt sighed at the gruff voice, able to tell that at least three men stood behind him. They all reeked of drink and anger, ready for a fight that Geralt didn’t want to have.

Resigned to his fate Geralt pushed away from the bar, mumbling a quiet thank you to the inn keeper as he went. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him as he left, hunching his shoulders and curling in on himself in an attempt to make himself seem smaller. He really wasn’t in the mood for a fight or to be chased from the town whilst being pelted with rocks so he would go quietly, using this as a good reminder as to why he shouldn’t let how Jaskier was with him cloud his judgment of other people.

Feeling dejected and stupid for it Geralt made his way back to the stable where he had left Roach. He had already paid for her lodging for the night but he didn’t want to have to come back for her in the morning and risk getting stoned for it. It was a shame, she could do with a good nights rest as much as he could but these things happen and thankfully the stable hand had already fed her. She wasn’t happy about it, huffing and nudging Geralt in the shoulder but she is a good horse and with a slight tug on her reigns she follows after him.

“That’s it girl. Next time I promise we’ll stay all night,” he mumbles, stroking down her snout as he leads her down the road and back towards the woods. It’s a lie, a promise he couldn’t keep and they both knew it, Roach huffing and nudging his shoulder again. This part of the continent wasn’t very friendly to Witcher’s though and Geralt doubted they would have any better luck at the neighbouring villages in the next few days.

That was fine.

He would manage.

Like always.

“Geralt?” He stopped at the familiar voice, head snapping up and in the direction it had come from. There in the middle of the dirt road stood Jaskier. The confusion on his face quickly morphed into excitement and even in the dark of night Geralt could see his blue eyes lighting up. “GERALT!” he exclaims loudly, throwing his arms wide and before Geralt really knew what was happening Jaskier was pulling him into a hug, arms squeezing tightly and patting him on the back. 

Geralt grunted, not even having time to react before Jaskier was pulling away, clasping Geralt by the shoulders and smiling widely. “It has been to long my friend,” Jaskier beamed. “Not your friend,” he grunted back automatically, so used to giving that response after all these years despite it no longer being true. Jakier waved him off, stepping back and still smiling brightly as if he hadn’t heard Geralt. “Are you just on your way out or in my dearest Witcher? In I would assume looking like that but it doesn’t matter, regardless of what one it is I insist you join me for a drink. I simply must know what you have been up to these last few months,” Jaskier took Roche’s reigns he spoke, leading the mere back towards the stables they had just come from, the horse gladly following after him at the prospect of getting to return to the warmth and comfort she had been taken from.

“I don’t think…” Geralt started to protest, following behind the bard and eyes darting around the darkened streets, looking for any sign of villagers who would want chase him off with pitchforks and torches. “I simply must insist Geralt,” Jaskier cut him off as they walked back into the stables and towards the bemused stable hand. “You back already?” he grunted, eyeing them suspiciously. Jaskier looked between the two of them, frowning slightly before realisation seemed to dawn on him but Geralt would put money on him not coming to the correct conclusion.

“No rooms left at the inn?” he asked as he passed Roach off to the stable hand along with a couple of coins. Geralt would have told Jaskier not to bother, that Roach’s stay had already been paid for but the boy snatched the money up quickly and was leading the horse away before he could, only just giving Geralt enough time to slip his saddle bags off before she was gone. “No,” he growled, glaring at Jaskier but it didn’t seem to bother him.

Technically Geralt hadn’t lied. There had been no room for him at the inn, even if there had been empty rooms available.

“No bother. I already have a room and you my friend could do with a nice hot bath and something to eat, my treat for killing whatever it is that you are covered in,” Jaskier wrinkled up his nose in disgust as he gestured to Geralt, already on his way out of the stable and back up the road towards the inn. Geralt should say something, should warn the bard that he wasn’t welcomed here and he might find himself out on his ass for bring Geralt back with him but he was tired and sore and he had a small flicker of hope that Jaskier would do what he does best and use his face words to confuse the simple locals and get Geralt into his room without too much trouble.

Geralt trailed after Jaskier, listening to the man ramble on about how the countess had once again left him but this time it had been in Jaskier’s best interest because her cousin had shown up not long before his departure and the man had wandering hands that always seemed to have a fondness for Jaskier’s pert bottom, as the bard so eloquently put it. Geralt just grunted, barely listening to the words as he gripped his bags and tried to make himself look as small as he could.

Jaskier was still talking when he pushed the inn’s door open, the whole room going quiet when Geralt stepped through the door but Jaskier didn’t seem to notice, strutting right up to the bar and leaning against it, smiling brightly up at the man who was scowling at Geralt. “Evening kind sir, I would like a bath please and two bowls of hot stew sent up to my room along with two cups of your finest ale,” he tipped his head back slightly, his bright eyes finally looking up at the inn keeper, only for his smile to fall when he noticed the look on his face. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told ‘im-” he jerked his head towards Geralt, his scowl deepening, “-we ain’t got room for his kind”.

Jaskier stood up straighter, his frown deepening as he looked around the room and taking in the hostility that was directed all at Geralt. “Right,” he mumbled, something dark flashing behind his eyes as his frown twisted. Geralt knew that look, it was he same look he got every time someone insulted Geralt or implied he was less simply because he was a Witcher. It also normally ended up with him getting in a bar fight and Geralt was too tired to take on the ten men that filled the tavern.

‘Jask,” he sighed, every intention of telling him not to worry, that Geralt was fine but like always Jaskier was quicker with his words than Geralt would ever be. “Do you not require coin to run this establishment?” Jaskier turned his cold blue eyes back to the inn keeper, his voice just as cold and seemingly taking the man by surprise. “Yes but,” Jaskier cuts him off, talking over whatever he was going to say but Geralt suspected it would have been a slur on him and his kind. “And do you not rely on the patronage of passing travellers like myself and my friend to earn said coin?” Geralt could feel the tension in the room, could smell the anger and fear but just at the edges something else was starting to creep in, people already shifting in their sets as if they knew where Jaskier was going with his little rant.

The man crossed his arms over his chest, his beady eyes narrowing at Jaskier as he grunted his response, “what is your point bard?” Jaskier smiled slightly, something soft yet some how full of mischief that wouldn’t be out of place when he was in the middle of playing one of his more risqué little ditties. It seemed out of place here where no one was singing along, full of alcohol and joyous in spirit. “I don’t know if you know this but I’m quite famous, wrote a popular little ditty called Toss A Coin, maybe you have heard of it?” Jaskier paused for effect, his eyes sweeping across the room and taking in the uncomfortable look on more than a couple of the men’s faces. So that forsaken song had even made its way to this hell hole.

“It’s quite amazing the power a simple little song can have, so imagine the damage that could be done to an already nameless little shit hole that is nothing more that a mud stain on a map if a song started to circulate about how unwelcoming and vile the people there are. I hate to imagine how quickly said town would fall into ruin, wouldn’t you?” Jaskier said it all with a light and friendly voice, as if he was having a conversation about the weather with an old friend but his eyes stayed cold and angry, fixed on the inn keeper and almost daring him to assume Jaskier was lying about his prowess.

The smell in the room changed once more, anger spiking but the rancid smell of fear began to grow. Towns like this relied heavily on passing trade, selling their wears and skills to those who passed. Its what got them through the long and harsh winters, what kept their families fed and safe and Jaskier was threatening that safety, their livelihoods and all in the name of Geralt’s honour. Sometimes he thought that Jaskier was wrong in the head, making unnecessary enemies because they didn’t treat Geralt how Jaskier thought he should be treated but it also brought a warmth to his chest, his heart beating just that little bit faster for a second or two. Jaskier cared enough to defend him, wanted Geralt to have the luxury of walking the Path and not having to fear he would be turned away or chased by an angry mob. He wanted people to see Geralt how he saw him, a hero, a defender, a person and he wouldn’t settle for anything else.

“What do you want bard?” the inn keeper gritted out between clenched teeth, looking at Jaskier like he wished him dead. Jaskier smiled brightly, his cold anger disappearing as he went back to his normal, cheery self. “As I was saying, my friend here as kindly just rid you of a…” Jaskier looked at Geralt expectantly. “Kikimore,” he grunted, rolling his shoulders and standing a little straighter now that he could feel things shifting in his favour. “A Kikimore, how ghastly. How lucky of you poor, defenceless people that a helpful Witcher come along and got rid of the vile beast before it could eat you all,” he raised his voice, letting it carry across the room and his eyes quickly flickering around the room. The men shifted, an unease settling on them that Geralt would liken it to guilt if he thought the men of this town had it in them to feel anything other than contempt towards him.

“After all that hard and dangerous work you can see that my friend is in desperate need of a hot bath and food and some fine ale so if you could have two bowls of hot stew and two mugs of your finest ale sent up to my room that would be much obliged. Oh and the hot bath as well”. Jaskier looked at the man expectantly, that sickly sweet smile still on his lips. The inn keeper grunted, clearly annoyed by the whole situation. “Cost extra and it better stay in the room,” he jerked his head towards Geralt but didn’t look at him, keeping his angry glare on the bard. Jaskier rolled his eyes but took out his coin purse, laying a few down on the bar top that the man snatched up quickly.

Jaskier didn’t waste any time, getting behind Geralt and shoving him towards the stairs. He could stop him if he wanted to but Geralt allowed the weaker man to direct him to the stairs but Jaskier stopped half way up, he anger getting sharper again. “Oh and no extra bodily fluids, my friend here will know,” he patted Geralt’s shoulders as he spoke and Geralt turned his head to glare at the inn keeper, playing his part in Jaskier’s little intimidation. He would know, always knew when people spat or pissed in his food or drink. It was disgusting but it happened, though no one had yet been stupid enough to try it with Jaskier. Geralt would have made them regret it if they had.

Jaskier didn’t give the man a chance to answer, pushing Geralt back up the rest of the steps before slipping around him and heading towards his room at the end of the corridor. Geralt had only just gotten into the room before he started fussing over him, hands flittering about him but not touching all the gore that clung to him. “Jaskier,” he grumbled, his tone heavy with disapproval. He appreciated the other man’s efforts but Geralt really wasn’t worth the trouble he could get into.

Jaskier scoffed, rolling his eyes at Geralt as he headed to the door when a loud bang came. “Oh hush, they were being bigoted assholes and after you saved their ungrateful lives as well. They should truly be ashamed of themselves,” he didn’t even look at the three rather burly and angry looking men on the other side of the door as he yanked it open, holding it ajar as they brought in a bath tub and the first few buckets of what Geralt could already tell was tepid water.

They didn’t look at Geralt as they placed the tub in front of the already lit fire and then quickly disappeared. Jaskier left the door open, obviously optimistic that they would continue to fill the shallow tub and not leave it with the inch or two of water that was in it. “Still,” Geralt grunted, knowing that Jaskier would understand what he was trying to say without him having to use the unneeded amount of words that Jaskier was so fond of. Geralt could take care of himself but Jaskier was human and if anything happened to him because of Geralt, well he didn’t really know what he would do.

Jaskier sighed, heading towards Geralt as the men came back with multiple buckets and continued to fill the bath. He stopped in front of Geralt, looking up at him with a mix of fondness and exasperation. “Its nothing Geralt really. You know I hate how these people treat you, plus what are friends for if not to help each other out in difficult times,” he spoke softly, hands hovering above Geralt’s chest as if he was going to put his hands on him but seemed to have thought better of it.

“Not your friend,” Geralt grunted but he could feel a small smile tugging at his lips, no heat to his words. Jaskier smiled at him, understanding what Geralt was truly trying to say. “Of course, how silly of me to forget that Witcher’s don’t have friends,” Jaskier teased, any lingering anger subsiding as the smell of wild flowers and summer got stronger, Jaskier feeling happy. Geralt liked that smell, wished that he could bottle it for when the other man wasn’t there, for when he came to places like this with people who only saw a monster. It would be a good reminder that there was at least one person out there who cared, one person who he could make happy, who didn’t think him anything more than a man.

They stood there for a long moment, staring into the others eyes and smiling, neither of them really paying attention to the men filling the tub until someone slammed the door closed and Jaskier jumped back, clearly surprised by the sudden noise. The bard laughed nervously, stepping away from Geralt and towards the bed and his own bags, rifling through them in what Geralt thought was an obvious attempt to make himself seem busy. “Well? Come on now Geralt, into the tub before the water gets cold. When was the last time you had a proper bath any way, your hair looks like a rats nest. You need to start looking after yourself better Witcher or you will end up having to cut that precious hair of yours off and wouldn’t that be a travesty,” he called over his shoulder, brandishing a hand behind him towards the now filled tub.

Geralt smiled as he began to work on the buckles of his armour. Jaskier had started to hum, that same sad and wistful tune that he had been working on for a couple of years now. The tune was so familiar by now that Geralt instantly felt himself relax. He had missed this, Jaskier’s gentle nagging and soft humming though he would never admit it to the bard. It was rare to have someone show this much concern for him, even among his brothers and it made him feel warm and wanted to have such attention.

Geralt made quick work of stripping out of his armour and clothes, leaving them to the side to be dealt with latter. Jaskier truly was a good friend and Geralt knew he was lucky to have someone care about him the way Jaskier did. Not many Witcher’s got that and he should tell Jaskier how grateful he was for it but words were never his strong point and he didn’t want to fuck it up. He always felt actions were better than words anyway and he hoped that from his actions Jaskier knew how he felt.

“By the gods Geralt, why didn’t you say someone had tried to gut you like a fish,” Jaskier screeched loudly.

Fuck.

He had forgotten about the gouge in his side.


	3. Lover

Geralt buried his head into the crock of Jaskier’s neck, breathing in deeply as he pressed himself as close to the bard as he could get without crushing him. Jaskier was warm against him, their bodies sweat slicked and glistening in the light of the fire and Geralt couldn’t get enough.

Bracing his weight on one arm by Jaskier’s head Geralt gripped tightly at Jaskier’s leg with the other, hitching it up higher against his side as he thrust hard and steady into the other man. Jaskier threw his head back, moaning loudly as his hands scrabbled on Geralt’s back, blunt nails scratching at his shoulders.

“Fuck Geralt,” Jaskier’s voice came out rough and strained, his back arching as he tried to get even closer. They had been at this for a while, Geralt having spent at least an hour with his head and hands between the bards legs, working him up only to leave him wanting when he got to close to the edge. It was his favourite thing to do at the moment, driving Jaskier half mad with lust until he was a begging, needy mess beneath him. He didn’t get to do it often though, the time and calm required for such a thing rare most of the time.

But not tonight.

There had been no hunt, no monsters that needed killing and no bad weather on the horizon to make then rush on to the next location. It had been a relaxed day of travel with the promise of another day just the same ahead of them when morning came. There was no inn, the next town two days ride away but that didn’t matter, Geralt liked it like this. He liked being out in the woods, a warm fire lighting the clearing they had found themselves in and the smell of nature around him. It was made that much better with Jaskier beneath him, smelling of sex and love and Geralt.

Groaning he gripped tighter at Jaskier’s leg, his hips snapping forward quicker when Jaskier tightened around him. Jaskier’s erection was trapped between their abdomens, leaking steadily and making it easier for the sensitive head to glide across the plains of Geralt’s muscles. Little gasps and moans fell from his parted lips, begging Geralt for more, for everything, for the very air he breathed as his walls fluttered around Geralt’s length and drove him towards madness.

Grunting he turned his head, mouthing up the exposed column of Jaskier’s neck. He could feel Jaskier’s pulse fast and hard under the delicate skin, could practically taste the bards life on his lips. He was to trusting, offering up his throat so easily to Geralt’s hungry mouth and believing he would come away from it intact. With a low growl Geralt dragged his teeth along Jaskier’s jugular before nipping at the underside of his jaw.

Jaskier lifted his head, cheeks flushed and covered in tears. His eyes were dark and desperate, the blue almost completely swallowed up by the black of his pupils. With a low whine he pressed forward, sealing his lips against Geralt’s. He sunk his hands into tangled white hair, tugging at the strands until Geralt moaned loudly into his mouth. Jaskier wasted me time, his tongue sliding between Geralt’s slightly parted lips and deepening the kiss.

Geralt licked into his mouth, swallowing every little moan and gasp as his hips moved steadily, trying to draw their pleasure out but his control was slowly slipping. Jaskier was whimpering, hips rolling as he tried to push back against Geralt’s thrusts. His heart was quickening, the smell of his arousal thickening as he got closer to his end.

Geralt shifted, getting his knees under Jaskier’s ass and lifting his hips up, changing the angle of his thrusts. The bard dragged his lips away form Geralt’s, a loud and breathy gasp leaving him as Geralt finally hit that spot inside him head on. He smirked, ducking his head down to kiss and lick his way across Jaskier’s jaw until his nose was buried in the sweat slicked hair behind his ear. He could smell the oil Jaskier used to keep his hair soft, the faint air of ink and paper that always clung to him but there was also the smell of dirt and grass, the salty tang of sweat and the unmistakable scent of the bard’s lust and love, spicy and sweet. It was a scent Geralt had gotten used to over the years and now craved whenever the bard was gone.

Jaskier pressed his mouth against Geralt’s ear, his warm breath puffing against it and sending shivers down his spine with every noise Geralt dragged from him. It was like music, a song that spoke of love and lust and he desperately wanted to hide it away from the world, keep it for himself. Geralt was a possessive beast by nature and he didn’t want to share this, wanted this to be his and his alone.

“Geralt please” Jaskier begged, his hands back to tugging at Geralt’s hair. Groaning he lifted his head enough to nip at the other mans ear, sucking the lobe between his lips and tugging slightly. “What is it you want my little song bird?” he growled, his voice a low rumble that had Jaskier trembling in his hold. “Have…AH!...have mercy my wolf”. Geralt hummed, going back to nosing behind Jaskier’s ear and sucking bruising kisses into his neck. They were too high to hide and come morning Jaskier would be angry about it but it was worth it. People would take one look at the bard and know that he was Geralt’s, that he was off limits and no matter how hard Jaskier would flirt and offer himself up no one would dare touch him because he was clearly Geralt’s and no one was stupid enough to try and take what belonged to the Witcher.

As much as he was enjoying the slow and steady fucking Geralt too was getting to the point where he needed more. He let go of Jaskier’s leg and reluctantly pulled back, the bard whimpering and fingers digging into his shoulder as he tried to pull Geralt back to him. It was easy enough to shift back onto his knees, pulling Jaskier with him until he was sat in Geralt’s lap, his legs spread wide around Geralt’s thighs and arms slung over his shoulder.

Jaskier moaned, burying his head in Geralt’s neck as the new position meant Geralt was inside him deeper, pressing against his prostate almost constantly. They stayed that way for a moment, Jaskier pressed tight against him and clinging to Geralt like he was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world. Geralt tipped his head back, using his nose to nudge at Jaskier’s cheek until the bard lifted his head to look at him. He smiled softly, leaning in and pressing his lips against Geralt’s. It was a gentle kiss, slow and soft, neither of them rushing and just enjoying being close to one another.

Geralt ran his hands down Jaskier’s back, the bard feeling tiny in his large hands until his hands settled on Jaskier’s waist, thumbs rubbing small circles. His skin was soft, radiating heat like he himself was on fire, bright and all-consuming and Geralt wanted to be burned, wanted Jaskier to burn his very existence into Geralt’s cold and lonely life.

When the kiss ended Jaskier pulled away, resting his forehead against Geralt’s. Blue met yellow, the world seeming to hold is breath. Jaskier licked at his kiss swollen lips, Geralt’s eyes darting down to track the movement and letting out a low grumbling growl. The bards’ lips twitched up into a smile, a breathless laugh tumbling from his lips that quickly turned into a gasp when Geralt tightened his hold on Jaskier and slowly lifted him up until only the tip of his dick remained inside the bard. “Please Geralt,” Jaskier whispered and who was he to deny such a sweet request. They both moaned as he pulled Jaskier back down, the bards’ inner walls gripping tightly at Geralt’s length. It was enough to drive him to madness.

Geralt set a fast pace, Jaskier rising and falling in his lap. He clung to Geralt, arms draped across his shoulders and hands tangled in his hair. Geralt held Jaskier tight against him, their breath mingling as there foreheads stayed pressed together. At some point Jaskier closes his eyes, moaning loudly but Geralt kept his open, watching as the pleasure passed across the other mans face.

Jaskier’s dick stayed trapped between them, smearing his pre-cum across Geralt’s stomach with every jerk of his hips. He was tightening around Geralt, squeezing and fluttering and driving him to the brink but he needed Jaskier to cum first, wanted to taste his release in the air and hear him cry out Geralt’s name to the stars above. He snapped his hips up, meeting the bard on every downward stroke and forcing such pretty noises from him that Geralt was more than happy to have ringing in his ears.

The bards grip tightened in his hair, his back arching and body tensing as he threw his head back and screamed his release to the sky, his dirk twitch as his warm cum splashed across Geralt’s stomach. Geralt moaned as Jaskier’s body tightened around him, his grip tightening on the bards hips as he chased his own release. He could feel it under his skin, like fire burning through him. His stomach tensed, the pressure in his balls tightening and with one last thrust he came deep inside the bard. Geralt quickly claimed the other mans lips, muffling his own moan as he gripped Jaskier close, holding him down so Geralt was buried as deep as he could be inside him.

Geralt continued to kiss him, the intensity easing into something almost lazy as he came down from his high. He wrapped one arm around Jaskier’s trim waist, pulling him closer as her buried his other hand in the bards short locks, keeping his head in place so Geralt could continue to kiss him. Jaskier didn’t seem to mind, his own hold loosening but not letting go, humming in what Geralt hoped was happiness as their lips continued to move against the others.

Eventually the need to breath became too much and Geralt pulled back enough for Jaskier to pull in a shaky breath. Now free of the bards lips Geralt ducked his head down, nuzzling into his neck and breathing the scent of him in. Geralt always thought he smelt good but it was always best in moments like this, when their scents mixed together and he radiated satisfaction and happiness. Jaskier laughed gently, tipping his head to the side and giving Geralt more room to kiss and lick at his neck. He nipped gently at the rather large bruise he had left just under Jaskier’s ear, the action drawing a content hum from the bard.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you have done to me you beast,” Jaskier laughed, no anger or annoyance to his words, the bard sounding more amused then anything. “Don’t know what you speak of,” Geralt mumbled against his skin, keeping his voice level but he was smirking and he knew Jaskier could feel it. He laughed again, low and gentle, the sound vibrating against Geralt’s lips as he gently dragged them down the exposed column of Jaskier’s neck until his mouth came to rest at the point where his neck sloped gracefully down into his shoulder.

Geralt placed a soft kiss against the unblemished skin before opening his mouth wide and bitting down. Jaskier sucked in a breath, his body tensing for just a second before he relaxed once more, not concerned by the fact Geralt’s canines had punctured his skin. Long fingers slipped through Geralt’s hair, gently stroking at his scalp as Geralt finally slipped his teeth free, lapping at the small trickle of blood that followed.

The night was still, the only real sounds the fire crackling and Roach nipping at the grass on the other side of the clearing. Jaskier’s breathing was low and even, his racing heart having slowed back to normal. He hummed gently, a tune that Geralt knew but did not know the words to as the bard had refused to share thus far. It was enchanting and even without words Geralt could feel the emotions it invoked, a sense of love and longing rolling of the bard with a hint of melancholy.

Geralt often thought he should ask what it was about, what made Jaskier feel this way but he couldn’t bring himself to, afraid of the answer he would get and what it would mean for their relationship, if it could be called that. Geralt knew that Jaskier loved him, bone deep and unwavering but Geralt did not believe he could return the sentiment. He felt things for Jaskier, things he had felt for no other but he did not believe they were equal to what the bard felt for him.

Or maybe he just didn’t want to admit to himself what he felt. Either way it did not matter.

Jaskier’s life was fleeting, his whole existence moving at a faster pace than Geralt’s, like a hummingbird, wings moving frantically as it dashed from one place to another. Geralt knew that at some point Jaskier would grow weary of Geralt and the life he lead and move on to greater things. He would deny it till he was blue in the face but Geralt knew. Jaskier was still so young and the call of adventure was a romantic notion in his mind to be spun into great tales to entertain the wanting masses but that naivety would pass just like the years and one day he would walk away from Geralt, never to be seen again.

No it was best not to get too attached, unless it hurt more the day Geralt lost his friend for good.

“We should probably get cleaned up, before we become stuck to one another,” Jaskier sighed but made no move to do as such. He was right, Jaskier’s cum was rapidly cooling on his skin and he could feel his own seed beginning to leak from the bard where his cock had softened. They should move, should get cleaned off and retrieve the blankets from their pack, should settle down and get some much needed rest but Geralt did not wish to let go. Not yet.

He tightened his hold on Jaskier, turning his head more into the bards’ neck. “Soon” he mumbled, letting his eyes fall shut as he clutched at the other mans back. Jaskier stilled and for a second Geralt thought he was going to insist. He wouldn’t blame him, it was probably uncomfortable but all Jaskier did was sigh, his fingers resuming their stroking. He rested his cheek against Geralt’s shoulder, head facing out to look across the clearing as he started to hum again. Geralt lost himself to the gentle melody and the steady rise and fall of Jaskier’s chest, his heart a calming and constant beat.

Soon.

Soon this would be nothing but a memory, something that Geralt would think back on in centuries to come when the night became too lonely and he only had the stars for company. Soon he would have to give all this up so Jaskier could live the life he so rightly deserved but for now it was his and Geralt wanted to hold onto it, to Jaskier for as long as he could.


	4. Enemy

Geralt slowly trudged along the rocky path that lead up the side of the cliff, his booted feet slipping slightly on the damp stone and a sense of dread sitting heavy in his stomach. The moon was high in the sky, the clouds having parted so its pale rays could light his way. Below him dark waves crashed against the shore, foaming and angry as they churned almost as if answering the call of the melancholy singing that seemed to be carried on the cool wind that whipped around him.

That was why he was here.

A rusalka of sorts was haunting the village below, luring towns folk to the top of the cliffs with its gentle song filled with sadness and longing. It called to them, everything else falling to the wayside as they answered its desperate pleads for them to help put an end to its heartbreak, its suffering. Even he could feel it, his chest tightening as the sorrow filled words tried to pull him closer, tried to make him feel the despair and longing that it felt. Geralt was a Witcher though, the magic rolling through him but unable to take hold of his mind and heart.

The villagers were not so lucky.

Many a man and women had been lured to the cliffs in the dead of night, that eerie and captivating voice drawing them in and in a way they went willingly, wanting to help ease the suffering of the spectre but once morning came they all ended up dead and broken at the bottom of the cliffs, splayed across the rocks and a sad smile on their lips.

Once every month this happened, when the moon was at its fullest. The song would come, the spectre calling to all who would listen and the villagers lived in fear of what lurked on the cliffs edge. A fear that had gripped the people and made them desperate, sending word for a Witcher’s help.

Twenty five villagers had already meet this fate, twenty five people who had been bewitched and lead to their demise. It’s why he was here, to kill the rusalka and set the living free. He hunted monsters, killed the dark and twisted creatures that prayed on man. It was his job, his duty but just this once Geralt wished that it was not the one who had answered the call.

The path evened out, the wind picking up and the singing getting louder. The voice sung of a love lost, a life taken and a longing to be set free. It sung of despair and heartache and hope that one day all its suffering would come to an end. The melancholy tune sunk deep into Geralt’s chest, piercing at his heart as he strode towards the lone figure who stood at the cliffs edge, facing out towards the sea.

His body felt heavy as he came to a stop, the wind cold and seeping through his clothes. He had no armour on, just a thin chemise and his leather trousers, his silver sword clutched tightly in one hand. He would not come here as a Witcher, a slayer of monsters. No, here he stood as nothing more than a man faced with his greatest regret, his worse failure. “Jaskier,” he growled out lowly, the word almost hidden by the howl of the wind.

The singing stopped.

The bard turned ever so slight, looking over his shoulder with a gentle smile. His blue eyes shone unnaturally in the dark of night, his pail skin glowing like moonlight as the wind whipped his soft looking locks around his face. He was bare foot in the short grass, his chemise untucked from the soft blue breeches he wore and billowing in the wind. He looked like temptation, an other worldly glow about him that drew people in. As mesmerised by his beauty as they were by his voice. Suddenly Geralt could understand why so many people had gone to him, gladly accepting their end if it meant bringing some form of happiness to the vision before him.

The Path was dangerous and Geralt had always said that if Jaskier wasn’t careful a monster would get him but he had never imagined this. Had never thought that Jaskier would become one of the monsters Geralt hunted.

“I had hoped it would be you,” he said softly, his lips hardly moving but Geralt heard them like the bard had whispered them into his ear. His smile softened, a sad resignation in his eyes that had Geralt tightening his hold on his sword and gritting his jaw. Blue eyes flickered down to the blade, Jaskier humming softly before turning back to look over the sea. He started to sing again, his voice blending in with the wind and waves and Geralt felt his heart clench.

He didn’t want to do this.

“What happened?” Jaskier turned back to him, song fading and that stupid smile still on his lips. It had been years since Geralt had seen that smile, years since he had last seen the bard on that forsaken mountain and he had hoped that one day he would be lucky enough to see it again but not like this. Never like this. “The same thing that always happens Geralt”.

Geralt knew how these things came to be, as did Jaskier. They had seen it a couple of times before over the years and each time it broke Jaskier’s heart to learn how wicked and vicious the people that were meant to love you could truly be. Jaskier had learnt that lesson for himself, first from Geralt and his cruel treatment and then by whoever was responsible for his current state because Geralt knew that someone had done this to Jaskier. Despite whatever heartbreak or misfortune had befallen him Geralt knew that Jaskier would not take his own life and if by some twist of fate he had it would not be by flinging himself of a cliffs edge to drown in the sea below. No Geralt knew that someone had pushed the bard to his death and for him to be here like this Geralt could guess it was at the hands of a jilted lover.

Geralt had not bothered to go looking for him, convincing himself that after he had turned the bard away Jaskier had simply found a court to take up residence in and spent his days living in the lap of luxury like he deserved and that’s why he hadn’t heard even a whisper of him. Geralt had told himself this time and time again to help ease his own guilt and unease he had felt, telling himself that Jaskier was better off without him but he had been wrong.

This was his doing.

“Where’s the body?” The question made bile rise up his throat, the need to empty his stomach grate but Geralt pushed it down. He needed to be strong here, for both their sakes. Jaskier knew what was coming, knew why Geralt was here but he didn’t want to make things worse for his friend. Geralt didn’t want him to suffer more than he already had. Jaskier didn’t answer though, his singing continuing and it took all Geralt had not to collapse to the dirt and scream.

Stalking forward he gripped at Jaskier’s arm, yanking him back and round to face him as he growled out his demand, “your body Jaskier, where is it?” He wanted to do this the easy way, the peaceful way. To cover the bards’ body with salt and sage, setting fire to it and setting his spirit free before he buried him properly, like the man deserved. Though this was where Jaskier had met his end it was still a good spot to put a grave. Geralt thought the bard would appreciate a final resting place like this. It had a good view, was sheltered enough that he wouldn’t get to cold and had a rock he could perch on to play his lute, that might even by why Jaskier had been up here to start with.

But life was never easy for a Witcher and destiny wished for him to suffer one last time.

Jaskier smiled so soft and loving, a pail hand coming up to cup at Geralt’s cheek. He was so cold, like ice pressing against his skin. Jaskier had never been that way before, had always been so warm and soft in Geralt’s hold. It felt wrong, he felt wrong. Jaskier should be sunshine and warmth not moonlight and ice. Everything was so fucking wrong and Geralt couldn’t fix it. Not this time.

“Gone my wolf, washed out to sea many a moon ago”. Geralt clenched his jaw, knuckles turning white as his grip tightened on his sword once more. Witcher’s couldn’t cry but Geralt wished that he could in that moment. He wished that tears would fall and his body would shake with his sobs. “Hush now dear Witcher,” Jaskier soothed, his voice gentle and light as he brushed a cold thumb along his cheek just under his eye, as if he was swiping away tears but there were no tears and there never would be. Jaskier’s other hand slid down Geralt’s arm, gentle and cold until it settled around the hand that gripped so tightly at his sword. “It must be this way”.

Geralt wanted to scream, to refuse, to promise to find another way. It shouldn’t be this way, never was it supposed to end this way. Jaskier was supposed to grow old, to go back to his home and marry a lovely young women and churn out kids. He was supposed to have a life, to live. He wasn’t supposed to end up this way.

There was no other way now though, no other path to take other than this and if Geralt turned his back now another innocent would die. The village would empty and Jaskier would be forever bound to this spot, singing for a life lost and a love abandoned until another Witcher came and set him free. Geralt had abandoned him once before, he would not do so again. He owed Jaskier that much, to grant him an as quick and painless end as he could. Geralt could give him that.

Pulling in a shaking breath Geralt cupped Jaskier’s neck with his free hand, his callused thumb rubbing at his jaw. There was no heart beat beneath his palm, no racing pulse, no sign of life but why would there be. Jaskier had died a long time ago, his life stolen and his soul twisted into this tormented creature before him.

He pulled Jaskier forward, resting their foreheads together as he just stared into too bright blue eyes. He had always liked Jaskier’s eyes, liked how open and honest they were. There were a lot of things about Jaskier Geralt had liked but never once had he told him so. He had been afraid of his own emotions, scared to admit how he truly felt and now he would never have the chance to change that.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt whispered. Those two little words encompassed a lot of things. He had so much to be sorry for when it came to Jaskier, so many ways he had done wrong by the other man. It wasn’t enough, even if he had eons to beg for forgiveness it would never be enough. Jaskier had deserved so much more than to end up this way and it was all Geralt’s fault. “I know” Jaskier whispered back.

Jaskier started to sing again, his voice soft and full of longing as he took a step back towards the edge of the cliff. Geralt went with him willingly, keeping him close and desperate to keep hold of the other man for as long as he could. “Follow dear heart I’ll show thee the way, through all the pain and the sorrows. Weep not poor heart for life is this way, murdering beauty and passions”.

Geralt felt the rush of air, the edge of the cliff upon him and he dug his heels in, the two of them coming to a stop before they could walk off the edge. “Come now dear heart I’ll take thee away, into a land of enchantment”. Jaskier tugged on Geralt’s arm gently, trying to urge him forward and take that last step into oblivion. His song filled Geralt with longing, a desire to give Jaskier what he asked for and take that next step with him, to be with him forever more.

He leant forward, pressing his lips against Jaskier’s cold ones in a gentle kiss. Jaskier kissed back just as softly, their lips moving together slowly as they shared their last kiss. Geralt’s grip tightened on his sword, his arm pulling back as he lifted the blade. Jaskier hummed into the kiss, that same tune that he had been working on for years now and Geralt had once found comfort in. A pain bloomed in Geralt’s chest, his heart aching and longing for a simpler time, when Jaskier and he had been happy together and content to travel to continent looking for monsters and coin. A time before Yennefer, before the mountain and the dragon hunt, a time before Geralt had lashed out at the only person who had loved him and signed his death warrant.

Geralt tipped the blade up and as he pressed his lips harder against Jaskier’s he thrust his sword forward, driving it into Jaskier’s stomach and up behind his ribs.

Jaskier made a gurgled wet little whine, pulling back enough to look at Geralt in the eyes. He still had that soft little smile on his lips, eyes shinning in love and Geralt wanted once again to cry. How could he look at him in such a way? How could he still love him after everything Geralt had done to him? He felt like a blade of ice had been shoved into his chest, the edges jagged as it twisted into his heart and ripped it to shreds.

Geralt could feel Jaskier’s blood dripping down the hilt of his sword and hand, the liquid as cold as Jaskier had been.

Jaskier tipped his head forward slightly, too blue eyes locking with Geralt’s and holding him captive in his gaze, “hush now dear heart”. Geralt didn’t even realise he had been shaking until Jaskier’s cold grasp tightened on his hand and slowly pulled it back. The sword made a horrid noise as it slipped free of the bard, steel scraping against bone and blood squelching, the smell of death and blood filling the air but just underneath he caught the scent of camomile oil and ink, the smell of home.

Jaskier gently brushed his finger along Geralt’s cheek once more, his hand even colder now than it had been before. “Be free my love,” he whispered with a smile as he stepped back, Geralt’s fingers brushing against him as he slipped free of his grasp. The wind whipped around them as Jaskier fell back, arms wide and still smiling as his body disappeared into the darkness that lay beneath them.

The waves crashed against the shore, the wind howled and Jaskier was gone.

Geralt’s knees gave out, his bones aching as he sunk to the ground, his arms laid either side of him. His grip went slack, his sword held loosely in his grasp as he stared out across the darkness to the sea that stretched off into the unknown. He stayed there, unmoving and silent until the first rays of light broke across the horizon, his chest feeling like it had been cleaved in two.

Body stiff and heart aching Geralt pushed up onto his feet.

He worked in silence, using his sword to cut down one of the trees that grew at the back of the small plateau. It didn’t take him long to fashion a cross, weaving the thin and flexible branches together and ripping of strips of his shirt to bind the two parts together. He drove the marker into the ground, half hidden under the trees and facing out to the cliffs edge. He forced the cross as deep as he could to make sure it would stay in place if a storm should role in. He didn’t think twice about lifting his medallion from around his neck and hanging it on the cross. He couldn’t give Jaskier the burial he deserved but he could at least mark the place where his life had been taken from him.

He whispered a small prayer, wishing Jaskier’s spirt on be he turned, heading back to the path he had climbed the night before and leaving the make shift grave behind. He did not look back, barely stopped as he strode past the towns folk, ignoring there questions and offers of payment as he swung up onto Roach and headed onward. He felt hollow, empty and he knew he had left a piece of himself up on that cliff that was now lost to him forever.

He didn’t stop. Just kept moving forward until Roach could go no more and he had no choice but to make camp so she could rest. He lead in the dirt, bedroll forgotten and no fire to keep him warm, just watching the sky change from day to night then back again. It took him eight days to crawl to the river and wash the other man’s blood off his hands but he knew no matter how hard he scrubbed it would always be there, a never ending memory of what he had done. Of the life he had taken.

Jaskier had told him to be free but Geralt would never be free, not from this. Jaskier would haunt him until his own life came to an end, with him forever and always.

Just like he had wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Jaskier sings is a revised version of the song come little children from hocus pocus


End file.
